I have burned through ice and fire
by highboys
Summary: Akashi has his own ghosts.


sidestory to under the bridge, across the river & If you were my only worth: Akashi's side.**  
**

* * *

**lock and key**

* * *

In the space between dreaming and reality, there was a cage in Seijuro's mind, and he kept in locked inside his heart. When the rivers flooded the mouth of the cave, he left it unopened, untouched. He thought only of one name.

When the summer rains came, he waited by the gates. He hiked up his robes to his knees and waded into the pool, the stones at his feet sharp and unmoving. Past the water, he could not venture out, or he would suffocate from the air. But like this, with his feet bare and his ankles white through the water, he was safe.

Between the cave and the gates, he did not know what it was that made his skin shudder, what it was that kept him inside. All he knew was that when the light cast no more brightness and all that was left to see beyond was darkness, someone would come. Paleness, and mist; these things, he remembered best. How intangible, how impermanent. It slipped through his fingers like shadows through water, refracted.

He loathed water, most of all, and when a hand felt through the shadows and struggled, like a drowned man, he rose to meet it halfway.

"Welcome back," said Seijuro. He scooped up the body; he gathered it in his arms. He stroked its back through the first fits of breathing, a spasm of muscles, the tremble of bone. "Tetsuya."

Tetsuya said nothing, still finding air and coming up short. He opened his mouth. It worked at Seijuro's fingers, as he brushed his thumb against the cracks. In. Out. Again.

Seijuro held him closer, still. Through it all, through the cursed water, the immeasurable frailty, he held him until he stopped shaking. His clothes were damp, his hair, damper, still, and Seijuro touched his mouth to his palm; the dragon prince bent for no one, except for this.

His skin; it was cold.

* * *

**and hand and hurt**

* * *

Centuries ago, Seijuro remembered how cold to the touch Tetsuya was. How brittle his bones were. How easy to bruise his skin. How quick he was to cry.

His father brought Tetsuya home when Seijuro's horns were barely nubs that sprouted past his hair. Tetsuya clung to no one, as if afraid. Around fire, he bit his lip. He detested the heat, and shrank away from it.

He'd lived in the river his whole life, the servants whispered. What a small, frightened thing. How slight compared to the young master. When Seijuro pulled at his arm to tug him closer, Tetsuya withdrew and held his hand to his chest, like the slightest contact hurt. Like he hated to be touched.

"I didn't mean to," said Seijuro, a hushed placation to Tetsuya's cheek, tasting salt and water. "It was only an accident."

And Tetsuya always stayed quiet, through his words. He drew his knees closer; he looked at him as though he believed none of his apologies. It was so strange. So unsettling. Seijuro opted to feel fascination, instead. Because otherwise, there was only one thing, and he did not like the feeling. It made his chest hurt. It clogged up his throat.

"You're not like me at all, are you," said Seijuro. He kicked at the sphere at his feet, a tiny mass of energy that Tetsuya could never handle well with his hands.

"I want to go home," Tetsuya whimpered, a strangled sound. He shook his head; he curled into himself, once more.

"You are home," said Seijuro. "Don't you understand?"

"I hate this place," said Tetsuya. "I want to go back."

"You can't," said Seijuro, watching Tetsuya's eyes well with stubborn tears. "Your home doesn't exist anymore."

Tetsuya always left his room scalded, with blisters on his wrists and fury in his throat. Oh, if only he understood that Seijuro could not be gentle, even if he wanted to be. If he wished for it. There was no serenity in fire, not even in the crackle of dying embers, from ash and cinders. Only devastation, and a hunger for things it touched.

Seijuro wet his lips, and smiled.

* * *

**and ice and fire**

* * *

When their father died, Tetsuya ran away. He leapt into the lake and followed its path, even as parts of it were frozen, thawing from the winter past.

There was always a bit of fire, in Tetsuya's blood. Let it boil for too long, and he would be prone to impulse, to heightened emotions misdirected for no purpose to himself. And like water, it spilled and flowed. The tide would not ebb without time.

So Seijuro let him go.

Except, some nights, he missed the distraction. He kept himself busy with growing plants - herbs and flowers, things that reminded him of Tetsuya the most. Like rue. Like rosemary. Like poison.

When he returned, his skin was red, from the sun, from some other world's fire. His feet were wet and smelled of grass. His mouth was pursed, but Seijuro knew the lines were more lax, in someone else's presence. In someone else's home.

"I can smell them on you," said Seijuro, as he crept closer. The gate trembled, and the ground seemed to quake. Careful; careful. Today, kitsune, tomorrow a boy, the next a slip of a girl. Their bright laughter. Their future, limited. He wanted to snuff out their ghosts. Their stories. How Tetsuya liked them best, like light, but never fire. At least they left nothing burnt.

"It's only water," said Tetsuya. A lie, and not. Seijuro, he hated water the most.

"If you say so," said Seijuro. He did not believe him at all.

* * *

**that soaked your blood**

* * *

Consorting with lesser beings, Seijuro had no patience for. Softness and brevity, they had no appeal for him, nothing to stoke his appetite. But sometimes, Seijuro lingered with their affectations; if they kept Tetsuya's interest, then perhaps, it would suffice.

He kissed the back of Tetsuya's hand. He drew his fingers, bony, into his mouth. He bit into the soft skin at the pads of his fingers, and sucked at the crook of bone, his joints. His stomach, it simmered, too full with a familiar craving. A pang, and more.

Like this, Tetsuya did not say his name. Brother, he traced into the dip of his back. Brother, in the tangle of hair, the flicker of a tongue at his ear. Petty reminders of his thoughts. Seijuro locked it, in his mind. Kept it at bay until he forgot it in Tetsuya's throat. Cold, he was so cold, and Seijuro burned.

"Are you satisfied," said Seijuro, bent to touch his neck. The swell of it. The underside of his jaw, where his pulse throbbed, faintly.

"It hurts," said Tetsuya, slow to speak and slower to admit to weakness. "It hurts."

No more thinking, no more injury. Else, he would remember. Else, he would forget how to breathe.

* * *

**your bones, and desire**

* * *

Before sunrise, Tetsuya walked back to the mouth of the cave. The water, it seemed to lap at his feet, greedy for him as Seijuro was for his nearness. Seijuro back with him, because no one else knew this place. Because no one saw Tetsuya except for Seijuro.

"You'll be back soon," said Seijuro, "won't you, Tetsuya?"

Tetsuya looked at him, and his mouth was a tight line. He said nothing, and Seijuro stepped back. Tetsuya's eyes, he cannot see them in this light. Some parts of him were faded, and Seijuro has to blink to recall what he looked like. What he was. He forgot some things, with time. He thought he had an eternity to recount the sum of his parts.

"Must you leave me," said Seijuro.

Tetsuya's fingers touched the base of his palm; the digits curled, minutely, around his wrist, tracing the lines across his skin, the branches of his veins. Like this, he was so close, so easy to hold on to. His knuckles like pebbles, sharp and solid to the touch. His fingers, curious, now. They plucked his hand away.

"Must you keep me here," said Tetsuya, softly. His shadow rippled, in the water. His eyes a fire that coursed through Seijuro's mind, that kept him trapped. No more. No more.

"Tomorrow, you will be gone," said Seijuro. He thought of the fox. The one that lost half of his soul. He thought of Tetsuya, across the muddy water. How he'd held him close and tasted water in his mouth. So many dreams. So little space for regret. In that, he erred; Tetsuya. He was always cold, to the touch.

"I'm sorry," said Tetsuya. The cracks of his lips, they finally softened into something unfamiliar. "I never understood you."

"Nor I, you," said Seijuro.

He closed his eyes, and opened the lock. In. Out.

* * *

**but for one lifetime**

* * *

"Brother," said Tetsuya. His mouth, working at air. His lips like fire at Seijuro's ear. Seijuro felt desire, and longing, because otherwise - because -

There was only one thing. It was guilt.

* * *

**you know**

* * *

Seijuro opened his eyes. His neck ached. His mind felt clear, empty. He threw back his head.

"Leave me," he said, to the fox bent at his feet, gasping for air. In. Out. Again.

"Does it always hurt like this," he asked, through the haze. A hand to his throat, a fire in his stomach, a memory you can't get out. And yes. And yes.

It always does.

* * *

**you know.**


End file.
